


Wherever You Are

by pene



Category: Glee
Genre: Australia, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pene/pseuds/pene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future fic, if that future involves a trip to Australia. </p>
<p>Some things are hard; some things are very, very easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherever You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Corinna and Stultiloquentia, without whom the story would be far less.

i) John F. Kennedy Airport, New York

Blaine tips the cabbie and waves his thanks. The tail lights curve away. Blaine is left on the curb, Diane von Furstenberg signature suitcases lined up on either side of him. His stomach twists unhappily. But aside from the very handsome luggage, he probably looks like any other anxious traveler.

 

Through the glass walls, the terminal is crowded. Everyone seems to be shouting frenziedly to someone else. As the doors slide open Blaine hears, “Are we even in line at all? Excuse me! Ma’am? Is this a line?” The doors close over the answer, and the sounds of the crowd are muffled. When they open again someone else is shouting, “Bring the bags here, Jim! Yes, all of them, and grab the baby.”

Outside it’s getting cold. Blaine’s breath puffs white into the air. He stands on the curb for another moment. He wishes he had someone to shout at him about which line is shortest and whether there’s time to get gum. He blinks. His eyes feel sandy. He doesn’t know if Kurt’s going to show.

It’s been a demanding three months. More than demanding, if Blaine’s honest with himself. Which is something he may have been avoiding.

Kurt’s the lead in _Watching the Detectives_ , which Hiroki Stevenson wrote, drawing from the Elvis Costello song. It’s a black comedy about violence and instant justice - distressing and detached. The show’s been well-reviewed by critics - Blaine expected nothing less given that Kurt is in it - and there’s a steady stream of aging anarchists, dishevelled hipsters and moody artists in attendance. But it’s not popular with general theatergoers exactly. Blaine can understand why. The first time he saw it he was struck silent by the violence and the coldness of it.

They beat him up until the teardrops start, but he can’t be wounded ‘cause he’s got no heart.

Blaine hasn’t said aloud how much he feels Kurt bringing the role home with him. Kurt seems edgier. Sort of hard-boiled. More inclined to wear a hat tipped over one eye. Blaine thought it would fade. But the way it’s going Kurt’s going to be permanently fedora-clad. At least his hair product expenses will go way down.

It’s not like Blaine’s had time to be there to support Kurt in his downtime. If he could, he’d have definitely seen the show more than twice. He’d have hung out backstage and got to know the cast, made sure everyone was clear on how devoted he was to his fiance. At home he’d have cooked Kurt a late dinner each night and curled up on the couch, bodies entwined, to run over Kurt’s lines. And later, while the city slept, he’d have lifted Kurt’s pliant form onto their bed and made sleepy, intimate love.

It would have been perfect.

Instead Blaine is in the middle of his own career-defining role. He’s developed a contemporary revue, playing on the golden age of the art form. He’s rewritten pop lyrics and is performing with a cast of wonderful vocalists and comedians. It’s been a huge and unexpected commercial success, everyone in the audience singing along to Nicky Minaj and Miley Cyrus and Ricky Martin and will.i.am. People have even shown up in costume with wrecking ball props, white sunglasses, stubble and truly intense wigs. Within the first three months they had to move to a larger theater. As far as his career goes, Blaine is more successful than he thought possible. 

The trouble is it’s seven days a week, eighteen hours a day. Mornings are rehearsals, afternoons are business development meetings, evenings are shows.

He’s hardly shared space with Kurt in months. They say hello and goodbye at the door, have sex in the times between sleep and waking. Just quick, knowledgeable hands on each other until they come, usually together and with a groan that’s mixed relief among the pleasure.

And in his limited free time, it seems easier to call Sam or Artie to come over and relax with a game of Sniper Elite 5 or The Wolf Within. Because Blaine loves Kurt, he **loves** Kurt. But time with Kurt doesn’t always feel like down time.

“Oh my god. Can you stop moving the silverware. I have it there for a reason.” Or, “Why’s this so crumpled? I showed you how to fold a fitted sheet.” And to Blaine’s automatic, slightly startled apology there’s an impatient shake of his perfect head. Blaine wavers between petulant and turned on. Kurt’s unbearable at times. But he’s hot when he’s angry. 

It’s worse when Blaine doesn’t apologize, when he says, “But I _like_ the yogurt on this side of the fridge, Kurt.”

Then Kurt tells him exactly why the space on the top shelf can’t be used for Blaine’s probiotic yogurt and Blaine feels both furiously wronged and achingly stupid and storms out, only to return ten minutes later because it’s not like you really leave a person you’ve loved forever over the fridge position of delicious yogurt that should probably be on the second shelf like Kurt says.

So now after months of barely touching, they have two and a half weeks off at the same time. They planned this six months ago. Blaine had money from his great aunt who adored him and had always wanted to travel.

“Where shall we go?” Blaine asked.

Kurt was feeling fucked out - lazy and magnanimous after what was admittedly some shatteringly good sex. Kurt bottoming from the top, riding Blaine’s cock with his head thrown back and his lips begging as his body arched and shuddered.

“I’ll go wherever you want, sweetheart,” Kurt said, smiling at him, foggy and close. He was gorgeous. Always. Especially like this.

Blaine kissed him. He never wanted to stop but then with Kurt in this mood it was as good a chance as any to make a suggestion. “I’ve been thinking about Australia.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. “Blaine Anderson. I’m well aware that this is just because you love the breakfasts at Milk Bar.”

Blaine blushed. It was true, in a way. The idea had taken hold while devouring wattle seed pancakes and bush honey at their local Australian-themed cafe.

“Okay, but Tahlia the barista says it’s amazing. It’s not just beaches there - Sydney has an amazing gay nightlife. We could get our dance on. We could see something at the Opera House. And Melbourne is the fashion capital-”

“Of what?” interrupted Kurt.

Blaine went on. “Also it’s this isolated continent, anything could live there.”

“Anything like massive spiders and venomous snakes and scorpions and dingoes,” Kurt said. He was smiling though. “The kangaroos might look cute but they can throw a punch.”

“And koalas. You know you want to cuddle a koala.”

Kurt shrugged. “I’d like to see you cuddling a koala,” he admitted. Blaine blushed. Kurt closed the gap between their lips and kissed him sweetly.

“Plus,” said Blaine after a moment, “the Great Barrier Reef is the only living thing visible from space.”

“Well that’s sold me,” said Kurt curling into Blaine and closing his eyes. “And I’ve seen the Hemsworths. Australian guys are hot. Blonde and tall. Let’s do it.”

Blaine humphed at the ‘tall’ but Kurt kissed Blaine’s chest which was pretty much the only thing he could reach without actually moving at all. Blaine felt better.

So in the next few weeks it was all somehow planned. It felt exciting and grown up and in the end it also felt a little like it might be a reprieve.

But now Blaine is standing alone with the luggage on the airport curb. Kurt is supposed to be meeting him at the terminal after his matinee.

It wasn’t until this morning that it all went wrong.

Blaine called Kurt at the theater. “Hi,” he said. “Everything okay for the matinee?”

“It’s a complete debacle,” Kurt said tightly. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” said Blaine, taken aback. He was already in vacation mode, which may have been a mistake. “It’s just - I can’t find the power adapter thing. You know, to change the voltage or the amps or whatever. We got it from the Good Guys on Monday.”

“You interrupted rehearsal for that?” Kurt hissed into the phone. “Blaine. I have enough to deal with. I can’t handle minor catastrophes. You’re a big boy. Sort it out yourself.”

Blaine was stung. The adapter was only necessary because Kurt didn’t trust hairdryers in the Southern Hemisphere. His voice shook, “I don’t even know who you are any more.” He wavered, “I mean, sometimes I don’t.”

“I beg your pardon?” Kurt’s voice was crisp and dangerous down the phone.

Blaine was the one who had to get all their stuff across town to the airport at peak hour, and yet somehow Blaine was the one getting into trouble. “I feel like these days all I get is your fucking detective. He’s cold and _mean_ , Kurt.”

There was silence. Blaine felt silly for calling Kurt ‘mean’ like a little kid. Then Kurt said, “I’m not even playing a detective, Blaine.”

Of course Blaine was aware of that. But Kurt’s bloodlessness was maddening. “I know. I came to see the show. Twice. Which is one more time than you managed to see mine.”

“You know I’ve been busy. You said it wasn’t a problem.”

Blaine knew that too. “I’d like to know that you cared enough to try. Anyway, that’s not the point.”

“Okay then, Blaine, what is the point? Are you honestly saying I’m the kind of actor that can’t leave a role behind when I come home? You think that little of me?”

“Of course not.” Blaine felt wrong-footed and ready to explode into stamping resentful pieces. He always felt this way when they fought.

“Then what are you saying?” There was a pause. Blaine could feel Kurt’s anger crackling over the line. “Look, have you ever thought that it’s not me bringing work home? That maybe I just feel frustrated. I’m under a lot of stress. I have no time to even breathe without people right there, and the house is a mess and I barely get to eat and I can’t iron my shirts properly or wash my face and I just. Need. Space. To myself.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“Then could you think, please, before you tell me how I’m bringing the play home? How I’m being mean. Our life is not always about you.”

Blaine couldn’t breathe around the fury. “It’s also not about you. We’re both under stress, and all I’m asking is for my fiancé to treat me like a human being, not some idiot who needs to be told what to do because he can’t be trusted to work it out himself. Fuck, Kurt. I think I’d have a better time travelling without you.” There were tears behind Blaine’s voice and he hated that too. He wiped his eyes fiercely.

Kurt’s voice was crisp and cold. “Fine. You know what? I never wanted to go. All that way to a land of sunshine and snakes and people wearing clothes from the 1990s. This is your dream vacation, not mine.”

“Don’t come, then. Stay here alone. Get some space if that’s what you want. You’ll have all the space you need. And if you want to fill it maybe you’ll meet someone who likes being bossed around and treated like a second class citizen.”

Kurt hung up. They hadn’t spoken since. Blaine hadn’t known what to say.

So now Blaine is standing on the curb. With all of their luggage.

He’s still furious. He’s still tired. But the truth is he’s packed three kinds of sensitive skin sunscreen, he’s found the adapter and the right hairdryer. And all he wants to do is call Kurt and say, “Please come. Please come with me.” But it’s too late. Kurt will never make the flight if he’s still at the theater or worse, out with the cast, or heading home with someone.

Blaine looks at the suitcases. There are too many for just one person. He’ll need a trolley. A town car pulls up. And Kurt steps out.

His lips are pressed together and his eyes wide and wary. He’s so beautiful it catches in Blaine’s chest. The world could have stopped. He can’t see anything else.

“Hi,” Kurt says, softly.

“Hi,” and Blaine can’t help but smile. He’s angry and weary and it’s not like things are okay but he knew years ago that he was never going to be anything but happy to see Kurt. 

**

ii) 35,000 feet above the Pacific

They’ve been together for the best part of six years. They are familiar with one another’s stresses and tipping points. They can handle long lines at the airport and tour groups blocking the moving sidewalk and security guards with careless hands tearing through Kurt’s carry-on, though the last one required Blaine to fortuitously produce antiseptic wipes once they got to the gate. They’re accustomed to travelling together, can decide who gets the window seat for which leg of the trip. They can get themselves quickly sorted with magazines and novels and hand cream and arm rests. When the flight attendants bring dinner, which might be breakfast Australian time, Kurt knows to give Blaine his cup of orange juice and Blaine automatically hands over his cookie. They know one another. There’s little need for words.

But so far above the ocean, surrounded by sleeping passengers and engine noise, there’s the space to say anything. Blaine looks up from his book and Kurt’s looking at him. In the dark his eyes are blue-black. 

He says, “This isn’t just a normal fight. Is it?” He’s ferocious and admirable, always so ready to face even the worst situations. Blaine sometimes wishes he weren’t.

Blaine exhales. “No.”

Kurt seems younger and more nervous than he has in months. “How do we fix it?”

Blaine looks down at his hands, folded over his book. “Maybe we don’t.”

There’s a pause. “Blaine- you can’t break up with me in Australia. There are deadly animals there. Did you see the huge jellyfish in the airline magazine? Not to mention sharks and spiders.” Blaine’s not sure if Kurt is nervous of the wildlife or likely to feed Blaine to them. Either way, even without looking at Kurt, Blaine can tell he’s only half joking. His voice cracks a little around the words.

Blaine’s been avoiding this conversation. He’s scared that there might be no end to it once it starts. But he adores this man so he looks up. He shakes his head a little. 

“I don’t mean- Kurt - I’m not breaking up with you. I think maybe if we’re both working this much and never have time it’s always going to be hard. So unless something changes- But I can’t give up my show.”

He knows he sounds defensive. It’s difficult not to when he’s sometimes afraid he’ll agree to something because Kurt is Kurt, and he’s always so certain with it.

Kurt looks stricken. “Blaine, I wouldn’t ask that of you. Ever.”

They look at one another for a long moment.

“You know that,” says Kurt. He’s almost pleading. “Right?”

Blaine nods. He knows. But he’s twenty two and he’s still learning how to say no. Worse, he’s still learning how to stop himself from offering up everything before he’s even asked, especially to Kurt. It terrifies him. Because if he offers to give up too much, to give up his career, the performances and the music, he’ll lose himself. And maybe he won’t be able to get himself back. 

Kurt says, “There’ll be better days.”

“It’s been more than just bad days.”

Kurt swallows then reaches over and grabs Blaine’s hand. Kurt’s palm is slightly sweaty, even in the dry air of the plane. The ring on his finger is cool against Blaine’s knuckle. “There’ll be better months,” Kurt says resolutely.

It’s true. Of course.

Blaine can’t help it. He leans into Kurt where he sits beside him. He rests against him and nods into his shoulder. Love isn’t going to fix everything, but it’s still love.

“We’ve got two and a half weeks to talk about it if we want,” says Kurt and pulls Blaine closer. “But you have to promise not to break up with me in Australia.” There’s this sort of bedrock feel to Kurt’s strong body and insistent voice. Ultimately, this is where they stand.

“I was never planning to. Kurt. Never.” It’s easy to say, because it’s so enormously true. “How could I?”

Kurt angles his body, curves it around Blaine. The press of him feels charged in a way that affection hasn’t always felt in the past months. Blaine instinctively arches his neck up to kiss him. Kurt’s long fingers wrap around his jaw. He presses soft noises into Blaine’s mouth. It’s like every kiss they’ve ever kissed, it’s like all of their history. But usually when Blaine is scared or resentful he can’t imagine how to touch Kurt. There’s a breathless novelty to kissing, trusting one another with their breath while knowing things aren’t right.

Blaine is pretty sure Kurt will never agree to sex in the tiny airplane bathroom. But maybe Blaine can convince him that a blowjob is a good idea, Blaine kneeling between the seats, discreetly curled under the blankets and Kurt slumped back, legs spread, and biting on his fist to keep silent. Doing it all in the crowded dark with a hundred people able to walk by and see them.

Blaine’s a little swept away by the thought of Kurt’s eyes rolling back in his head, his breathing stuttering and choking as Blaine takes him apart. He’s swept away, too, by the thought of Kurt knowing he could be watched, trying to hold himself in check, but unable to stop himself thrusting mindlessly into Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. The armrest digs into his spleen or something. Its uncomfortable. They haven’t had to contort to have sex around a gear stick or steering wheel for years. They’ve rarely needed to keep quiet since Rachel moved out. Blaine has fond memories of doing both, of doing everything with this boy.

When they break apart, Kurt asks, “What are you thinking about?” Blaine doesn’t hesitate to meet his eyes. Some things are hard. But some things are very, very easy.

**

iii) Clovelly Beach, Sydney

It’s freeing, being halfway across the world, here in a whole different, sunshiney country.

Blaine feels Kurt’s gaze as he runs up the beach. The sand is crunchy and warm gold under his feet. There’s salt water on his skin and sun in his hair. It’s worlds away from New York’s crowded sidewalks and siren noise. It feels wonderful.

“You look like a wet dog,” says Kurt as Blaine flops down beside him under the huge umbrella. It’s not a criticism. Kurt’s eyes are full of relaxed fondness as they skim Blaine’s body and rest in his gaze. Blaine feels captured and adored. He sighs happily.

Kurt carefully unfolds his legs. He glances around for an instant before kissing Blaine. Blaine reaches to hold his face. Kurt smiles against his lips.

“Ready to go?” Blaine asks.

“Okay.” Kurt doesn’t stand immediately.

“Don’t tell me you’re warming to the whole surf sun and sand concept, Kurt Hummel.”

“I’m not objecting to watching my very attractive fiancé stepping half-naked out of the waves,” says Kurt. “It’s very Bond girl.”

“That’s absolutely the look I was going for. Bond girl or Daniel Craig. Whichever you’d prefer.” He turns the words into a flirtation.

Kurt lets his hand linger on Blaine’s waist and traces drops of water up his abs. His tongue darts out to touch his lips. “I guess we should head to the hotel if we’re going to get a shower in before the concert.”

Blaine grins. Their suits are already laid out on the bed, ready for them. There’s plenty of time. “Can we share?”

“The country is in the midst of a drought. It’s the only responsible thing to do.”

Blaine laughs. They pack up their gear. As they walk up the beach toward the street Blaine says, “We could hire a cleaner.”

Kurt turns his head toward Blaine. “In New York?”

Blaine nods. “It’s just a thought.”

“I know the show’s going well, but we’re not on the rich list yet, Blaine.”

“They’d only come every couple of weeks. We can afford that while we’re both working. Maybe not forever but it could help to decrease your stress and give us some more time. For ourselves.”

There’s a pause as they stand on the sidewalk and wash off their feet under the faucets planted at the edge of the sand. The water is startlingly cold.

Kurt says, “How would I know they were doing it right? What if they put the knives in the wrong slots in the knife block or put the crystal in the dishwasher. Or what if they used the dishcloth to wipe the stove and didn’t wash it out. I’d never know. No. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Blaine. No.”

Blaine considers whether this would be enough to shut him down on a normal day in their apartment. It’s certainly enough to cause a tiny spark of resentment. He squashes it.

“Well, how about you interview them? Make sure they have the Kurt Hummel seal of approval.”

Kurt looks thoughtful as he bends to tie his shoes. Blaine doesn’t press it. He’s made a suggestion and Kurt’s listening which is a step back toward something. Anyway, here under the dazzling Australian sky, these frustrations seem like something they can handle.

**  
iv) The Colombian Hotel, Oxford Street, Sydney

Blaine hands over Kurt’s cocktail and lifts himself lightly onto his barstool. “Pink Russian,” he says by way of explanation. The bar is having a Queer in Russia fundraiser which mostly seems to involve drinking Russkis in bottles and this concoction which looks like slightly anemic Pepto-Bismol.

“Appropriate,” says Kurt.

“Apparently later tonight there’ll be half-dressed Cossacks dancing on the tables.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “In fur hats?”

Blaine widens his eyes and nods. “Plus it’s happy hour, so these were cheap. They don’t even expect tips! But don’t worry. I tipped anyway.”

“Of course you did.” Kurt takes a delicate sip. “It’s not bad,” he admits. “Try some?” Instead, Blaine kisses him. The cocktail’s a fraction too sweet, but Kurt tastes wonderful.

They’re perched above the sidewalk, their drinks on the wooden bar table that stretches the length of the windows. Here they can watch Sydney’s nighttime gay scene stroll by. Kurt crosses one leg over the other. Blaine places a hand high on his thigh and traces the seam of his pants with his thumb. He feels people notice them, but the attention is all positive. He loves the way Kurt expands in response to that kind of energy.

“You wouldn’t believe the outfits I’ve seen out here while you’ve been gone,” says Kurt happily. “Things that barely count as shorts, just ass cheek and a floral crop top. Then someone came by on rollerskates with this incredible hooded cape. Oh and there was a whole collection of cute leather daddies.”

“I wonder where they were going.”

Kurt laughs, bright and relaxed. “These window seats really take the legwork out of cruising,” he says. “So where are we heading next, honey?”

Blaine tilts his head. “If you’re in the mood, I was thinking we could move our party onto the dancefloor. You know, some place pumping with bodies and a heavy bass line.” He raises his eyebrows encouragingly and lowers his voice. “Music in our veins. My thigh pressed between yours while you moan and rock sweatily against me.” 

“You know I never sweat,” says Kurt. “I glow.” But his eyes are a little dark and he’s still smiling. “So where did you have in mind?”

Blaine pulls out his phone, flicks out of tomorrow’s itinerary. He has a list. “It depends on the music we want. And whether we want something queer, something queerer or something that’s all out fetish.”

“And me without my choke collar,” says Kurt.

Blaine looks up from the phone and giggles, a little breathily. Across the room a guy catches his eye. He’s hot. He’s clearly looking at Kurt. But then, Kurt’s gorgeous. Blaine’s accustomed to guys looking.

“Wait just a minute. Some hot Australian is checking out my man,” he says to Kurt.

“How hot? And how do you know he’s Australian?” Kurt turns to look.

“His outfit’s a season out of date,” says Blaine. “But don’t look!” It’s too late. The guy’s approaching. He’s only sort of medium-hot close up.

“Three hundred,” the guy says.

“Excuse me?” says Kurt. Blaine blinks.

“Three hundred. For the baggie,” says the guy, enunciating carefully as though being American makes them dim.

“Oh,” says Kurt. Blaine looks at the bag of white powder the guy’s got secreted under his sports jacket. The jacket is more like two seasons out of date.

“Oh. No, no. We won’t have any, sorry. But thank you for thinking of us,” says Blaine.

When the guy leaves Blaine meets Kurt’s eyes. “You’re so polite,” says Kurt. Blaine can hear how hard he’s trying not to laugh. He leans in conspiratorially. “So very dapper and handsome, even when refusing to make drug deals.”

“Hush,” says Blaine, clapping a hand over Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt pushes it away. “Later, baby, later. Now let’s go and find that dance floor you promised me.” Kurt stands, downs the rest of his pink drink with a tiny shudder and takes Blaine’s hand in his.

Blaine tumbles delightedly behind him.

**

v) Adina Hotel, Flinders Street, Melbourne

Blaine looks at himself in the well-lit mirror and straightens his bowtie.

“This show is going to be terrific. ‘Paranoia, sleaze and bloody, unrelenting ambition’,” he says from memory. “‘A reclusive, drunken, Depression-era Broadway washout’.” He bounces a little on his toes.

They got out of bed late and found incredible coffee right opposite their hotel, then spent the afternoon walking along Collins street, checking out the designers in red brick heritage buildings. Now they’re going to the Malthouse - part brewery, part theater. Very Australian. The show, by ‘queer ‘DIY’ theatre duo’ Sisters Grimm sounds like a rollercoaster ride of over the top camp fun. Blaine can’t wait.

Kurt steps out of the bathroom. He’s made good use of the hairdryer they carried ten thousand miles. Despite the humidity his hair looks fantastic.

“I showed you the set designer’s portfolio, didn’t I?” he says. “He’s doing the costuming too.” He looks at Blaine through the mirror and Blaine’s breathing skitters for a moment.

“You didn’t bring the blue striped bowtie?” Kurt says. His tone is mostly interested, not even disappointed. But Blaine’s whole outfit feels immediately wrong - the yellow bowtie garish and awkward against the beige and blue of his shirt.

Blaine breathes slowly and squares his shoulders. He feels Kurt notice. “I’m happy with what I’m wearing,” he says.

Kurt’s eyes widen and he speaks too quickly. “Good, good. You look great.”

Blaine heads into the bathroom. He can’t look at himself in the mirror as he fixes his hair. By the end he knows he’s used too much gel.

When he’s done, Kurt’s on the balcony, looking between the buildings toward the Yarra river, twisting his ring on his finger. The sun’s still high in the sky. It’s early evening but it’ll be light for some time yet. 

“We should get going,” Blaine says to Kurt’s back. “I’d like to try a Pilsener before the show.”

Kurt turns. His eyes are rimmed in red.

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes. He has no idea what else to say. He’s spent six years wanting to stop Kurt from ever hurting again. But today there’s a piece of him that’s glad Kurt’s noticed something is wrong. 

Kurt says, “I want to make it clear that you look perfect.” Blaine blushes and looks away for a second. He tries not to care but it’s embarrassing how good Kurt’s approval makes him feel.

Kurt looks out over the river again. “I don’t know how to fix this. We’re so far from home and we have all this time together.” He turns to Blaine. “Which I love. It’s been amazing.”

Blaine nods.

“But still, I say things and they hurt you. I actually- I mean, I don’t even think I’m saying anything wrong.”

“I know,” says Blaine. “It’s silly of me-”

He pauses, his attention caught by Kurt’s stillness. Kurt says, “Stop. It’s not silly. You take things like that to heart and- I don’t. I can’t afford to. We’re very different.”

Blaine wants to hold on to that acknowledgement forever.

“It’s not like I’ve only just noticed. But I still don’t know how to fix it,” says Kurt. He reaches out to Blaine. Blaine takes his hand immediately. They lean against the balcony railing together. In the settling light Blaine can see the light hair on Kurt’s arms and the freckles on his cheekbones.

“You’ve known me what feels like my whole life,” Kurt continues. “I have to be like this. I have to be confident and…; sure about things and I have to be particular otherwise- I mean I’m not like you. I’m not easy for people. I can’t come up with a pop music revue that charms every single person in New York City. If I’m going to succeed then I have to do things my way.”

“Okay,” Blaine says slowly. He’s trying to think, trying to be kind. Of course he wants Kurt to succeed. And they’ve learned to accept the mild jealousies and competitions that can spring up between them. But there’s frustration bubbling hot inside him, and it’s not only with himself. He doesn’t want to hear excuses. Not about this.

He moves away as he lets go of Kurt’s hand. “Please don’t justify yourself to me,” he says.

“Okay,” Kurt says warily. 

Blaine feels brave, he also feels overwrought.

“You think I don’t know all those things about you? Kurt. I know you. I know. Sometimes I touch you and all I feel is the hold you have on yourself. And god knows I’m not asking you to give up anything you’ve fought for. But you need to trust me.”

Kurt’s exhale is unencouraging, but his eyes are thoughtful. “I do trust you.”

Blaine holds his gaze. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done. “Okay yes. I think you trust me to love you. But I don’t think you trust me with-.” He’s not sure how to pin it down. “I don’t think you trust me to make decisions. Not for both of us.”

He takes a breath to steady himself. “You can deal with your career however you like, and I’ll be here supporting you. Always. But when we’re home, I need you to acknowledge that I’m capable of making choices and having opinions. I need you to respect me. Because every time you rearrange things that I’ve put away or cross things off the shopping list that I put on or check that I’m not overcooking the pasta or undercooking the chicken you’re acting like I’m not competent.”

He takes a breath. Blaine doesn’t know if he’s being fair. He can’t even tell if he’s saying the things he knows need saying. He does know that he’s being honest.

Kurt is looking at him inscrutably.

Blaine goes on. “And I know, I know I let you take control. Because a lot of the time it doesn’t really seem to matter. And because I want you to be happy. I love you, Kurt. I love nothing in the world more than when you’re happy. But there must be a way we can do this better. I can take a stand, insist on things. Maybe you could check in with me. See if I have my own reasons. And maybe also sometimes leave things the way I did them. Because I do get things right. Now and then.”

Kurt laughs weakly. It turns into a sob. “I know. Of course I know. Blaine.”

Blaine says, carefully, “And sometimes it’s not about the sheets or the yogurt or the silverware, Kurt. Sometimes it’s about all the other things you can’t control. And that’s okay. But when we’re home, just us, I want that to be a place where you can let things be. Where you can let go. A little.”

“I let go,” says Kurt softly. “I let go with you.”

Blaine smiles through tears. “I don’t mean letting go when we’re fucking.”

“I’m not sure I know how.” Kurt chews on his lip. “Not all the time. Especially when there’s a lot going on for me. I’m trying though, Blaine. I am. I will.”

“I’m trying too,” says Blaine. He sighs, more dramatically than he intends. “I guess this isn’t the kind of thing you just fix. Especially not alone. We’re sort of stuck being us and that means I’m always going to be me and you’re always going to be you.”

All the adrenaline of fighting is gone, and with it the bravery and stupidity. Blaine feels shaky.

“And that also means I’m always going to love you.” Kurt blinks at tears. He looks past Blaine to the night. The sun has set and the lights of the city are coming on.

“Oh god, what’s the time?” he says suddenly. He glances through the balcony door to the clock beside the bed. “Damn, we have to hurry. That is, if you still want to go.”

Blaine’s been excited about this show for weeks but right now he’d love to just curl up between the sheets and sleep for a year.

“We’ve missed our chance for a nice dinner,” he says. It feels like the night’s over and it hasn’t begun. “I’m so sorry.”

Kurt looks at him. His gaze sits somewhere between exasperated and fond. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I was as big a part of that as you. Anyway, didn’t Tahlia tell us to try a sausage roll for a true Australian night out? There’s a bakery across the street. We could get one on the way.”

Blaine wipes his eyes with his hand and sniffs. “They’re like a cross between a sausage and a croissant,” he says.

“Sounds like something I’ve dreamed of my whole life,” says Kurt. “But that doesn’t mean we need to go, unless you want to.”

Blaine thinks before he answers. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Kurt steps toward him, taking up Blaine’s space. His eyes are still red as he lets Blaine adjust the feather brooch pinned on his chest. Blaine’s hands shake a little.

“May I?” asks Kurt before he reaches to adjust Blaine’s bowtie, and if it’s more tentative than Blaine wants it’s also more thoughtful than he expected. Kurt’s competent fingers are familiar at his neck.

When they’re both pulled perfectly together, Kurt reaches out a hand. His eyes ask a question. Blaine takes it and lets Kurt draw him out the door.

**

vi) Southbank, Melbourne

The theater is warehouse chic. The metal struts and brickwork would be unfashionable in New York now. But the audience is fabulous. Blaine clasps his pilsener in one hand and feels himself waking up in the crowd of queens and artists and hipsters and some guy who looks exactly like David Bowie.

The show itself is a frothy mess of re-gendering and witty melodrama. When one lead enters by trapeze in a vintage prom dress, when the chorus skewers Sondheim and young conservative celebrities in one breath - over and over Blaine looks across and meets Kurt’s bright gaze. Moments zing between them. Blaine taps his feet happily on the floor.

As the broken Broadway diva belts out _Like We Never Said Goodbye_ , Kurt clutches at Blaine’s hand. They hold on tight through the rest of the show, only letting go to applaud. They’re the first to stand for the ovation. Blaine whoops and cheers while Kurt beams beside him. 

They spill out onto the street. The night is warm and clear. 

“We should walk back,” says Kurt. He turns to go then hesitates. “If you’d like to. It’s up to you.”

Blaine doesn’t hide his smile. He could fly away on theater and Australian beer. “That sounds good,” he says. 

“You loved it,” says Kurt as they walk, dodging other pedestrians then coming back together. “I saw your feet dancing on the floor the way they do when you’re happy.”

“You didn’t like it?” asks Blaine.

“Oh no. Absolutely, I did,” says Kurt. “Though I’d still respect your opinion and love your little dancing sockless feet if I didn’t.” He twinkles at Blaine in the dark.

Blaine considers that, letting the way Kurt’s looking at him buzz joyously in his blood. Their hands brush one another.

“And what’s not to love? Genuinely funny genderqueer theater, and it was performed with Australian accents.”

“Not to mention nudity. And all those tragic diva numbers they managed to find and sing.”

“I know,” says Blaine, “I mean the eras were messed up but I couldn’t stop myself humming along. I almost broke into song when Beverley sang that Amy Winehouse.”

“You’d sing it better, too.”

Kurt loops his arm into Blaine’s. He’s clearly feeling safe, even halfway across the planet.

“The set design was just as good as you suggested it would be,” Blaine says.

“I know. So much attention to detail. Honestly, the designer needs to move to New York before I get my next role.”

“Think that’ll be soon?” asks Blaine. He makes it casual.

“There’s not the audience we’d like for _Detectives_. I’ll finish out the run, of course.”

“And then? Do you know what’s next for you?”

“No.” Kurt looks struck. “Honey, no. Of course not. I’d have told you the second I did. But Roz has some leads. Something by Daya Cruz and something more mainstream.” They walk on. “I’m going to need your opinion,” Kurt says and Blaine feels warm and still and heart-stoppingly wanted.

They pause on the pedestrian bridge across the river, beside a sculpture of a strange bird. The buildings along the waterfront are lit up for the night. Their reflections in the moving water are almost as bright as the real thing.

Kurt looks out over the river. Blaine looks at him.

“You’re my best friend,” Kurt says into the space above the water. He sounds almost shy. He turns to Blaine and all the lights of the city reflect in his eyes. Blaine is full to bursting with how beautiful he is. “You’re the love of my life as well. But you’re still my best friend.”

v) Koala Conservation Centre, Phillip Island

“This is better, really,” says Blaine as they walk along the treetop boardwalk, looking among the leaves for little gray bundles of fur. The railing is wooden and warm under their hands. Sunlight filters through the eucalypts.

“I know,” says Kurt. “Ecotourism. Nature conservation. You just need to give me a moment to let go of the fantasy I had of you cuddling a koala.”

Blaine hugs him. “I’ve got better things to cuddle, anyway.”

“Not in this heat, you don’t.” Kurt peels Blaine’s arms from his chest. “Look. There’s one.”

They watch the furry koala ball for a while. It’s cute, all soft-looking and round. It doesn’t move. 

“Asleep,” says Blaine.

“Or drunk,” says Kurt. “Eucalyptus is potent stuff.”

They walk on. Blaine lets his eyes skim the trees and Kurt in turn. Kurt’s wearing a panama above a slim button down and shorts. Despite his long, milk-pale legs, he looks like a jungle explorer. 

“You look cute,” says Blaine. “I don’t think I said.”

Kurt tips a smile at him. “Thank you. Oh look! That koala’s moving. What a sweetie.”

They watch the koala chew for a while, then gather more leaves and push them into its mouth, looking satisfied. When it opens its eyes they are button round and black. Blaine is charmed.

“Blaine,” Kurt says.

“Mmm?” Blaine turns.

Kurt’s looking at him. There’s no feeling like being pinned by that gaze.

“You should know I’m truly appreciative of how you’ve pursued things on this trip.” Kurt leans against the railing and looks at Blaine searchingly. “We’ve had hard conversations. Really hard. And I mean, I’m not happy we had to have them exactly. But I’m weirdly- it’s kind of reassuring or something. To have hard conversations. And to come out the other side. So, thank you.”

“Oh,” says Blaine. He puts a hand to his heart, touched.

“I’d hate you to think I hadn’t noticed. Also,” Kurt looks thoughtful. “I think we’ve got this. I think we’re okay.”

“Oh,” says Blaine again. He nods. He feels anchored by Kurt’s confidence, as always. But it’s more than that, because underneath his skin he’s sure too.

**

vi) Longitude 131, Uluru

Even in the growing dark, the dust is red under their feet.

“Whatever you boys do,” says the guide, Anne, as she shows them to their tent, “Don’t go bush at night. There are dingoes. They’d love to snack on tasty things like you. And if you stumble across the creek there’s crocs too. Though they’re just babies. Anyway, lots out here that’s sacred to my mob and you’ll wreck it by dying in it.”

Blaine glances across. Kurt’s eyes are almost comically wide. Anne lifts the flap of the tent to let them both in.

Blaine feels Kurt’s shoulders slump in relief at the sight of the wide bed under the canopy. It’s half tent half room, with a sweeping fabric ceiling and a window at one end open to the sky and land and the great lone rock there in the distance.

They’ve already survived the six hour coach ride from Alice Springs to Uluru. The whole way the ground beside the road was copper red under the endless summer-blue of the sky.

On their roadside stops, Blaine handled the other tourists, answering questions from the smiling couple seated near them, enthusing about the open space with the explorer wannabes, talking cultural heritage with the hippies. Kurt kept to himself, smiling a thank you at Blaine and chatting with Anne, showing her his tattoo and admiring hers, talking about their very different experiences of music and theater. 

Anne glances around the tent. “Everything look okay?” she asks.

“Are there showers?” Kurt manages.

“Down the path. The water’s recycled so no more than two minutes, understand. We’re not having you on about that.” She goes on. “And don’t leave your shoes outside. There are lots of nasty critters, spiders and worse, that’ll reckon your boots look like a good place to set up house. I’ve got no interest in rushing you to the medical centre.”

Once Anne’s gone, Kurt flops onto the bed face down. “What’s worse than spiders?” he asks into the comforter.

Blaine moans. “Oh god, Kurt, I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have come.” It twists in his stomach. 

After a moment Kurt rolls onto his back. “Blaine, I’m tired and cranky and I’ve just learned I only have 120 seconds to shower even though there’s about a pound of red dust in my hair,” he says. “So you know I’m not saying this just to be nice. But please don’t worry. We came here together. This place is amazing. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. And didn’t you say there’s a 4-star barbecue dinner. And stargazing. And a waterhole without baby crocodiles that I can watch you swimming in?”

Blaine nods. “Yes.” The waterhole’s a couple of hours up the road and it’s manmade but he doesn’t need to mention that.

“Will you take off your shirt?” asks Kurt sitting up a little. “When you swim?”

“If you like,” says Blaine, unable to hold back a smile.

“Then I’m glad I’m here. With you,” says Kurt.

“Anyway,” says Blaine, “we can squeeze into the shower together and have 240 seconds. I’ll even wash your hair, especially if you wash mine.”

“You’re so smart,” Kurt says flopping onto his back again. “Love you.”

Blaine smiles. The ease of things both stings and soothes him. He looks through the window into the dark. They’re worlds away from the airport curb twelve days ago, and that horrible sand-eyed fear.

Behind him he hears Kurt stand. He comes close and wraps his arms around Blaine’s chest. “What are you looking at out there, Blaine Warbler?”

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Blaine says, instead of answering.

There’s a pause. “To Australia?”

Blaine nods. He’s still looking into the dark. He can see his body and Kurt’s reflected in the window.

“Did you want me to come?” asks Kurt carefully.

Blaine turns in his arms. “Honestly?”

Kurt’s eyes are firm on him. “Always.” Blaine steps away a little but keeps a hold on Kurt’s hand. 

“I wasn’t sure… I just- I was so angry. I felt small. I felt less than you. And I resented it.”

Kurt takes a breath as if to speak. Blaine says, quickly, “You know I don’t blame you. I never really did.”

“I know.” Kurt sighs. “And I’ve never, ever thought you were less than me. God, I mean- you’re you and you’re- Have you seen yourself? Have you seen the way you light up a room?” He seems to run out of words. “I know I can’t just tell you that like it fixes everything.” He pulls Blaine close, brushes his lips against Blaine’s hair. “We’re both going to keep getting better. I promise.”

Blaine’s still thinking it through when he says, “I knew, though, as soon as you got there.”

“You knew?”

“When you got out of the car at the airport. I was standing there. I wasn’t sure. But the second I saw you I knew that I wanted you here.”

Kurt nods against Blaine’s hair. “I was so glad to see you,” he says. He breathes Blaine in, bends his head to Blaine’s neck. “Thank you.”

*

The light is exquisitely pale when Blaine wakes the next morning. The sun isn’t up yet. Across the expanse of the bed Kurt’s eyes are open, gray-green and unguarded before dawn. He smiles at Blaine.

“Listen,” he whispers.

Blaine holds his breath. He hears a sound that might be a bird or some kind of possum or duck-billed platypus. He hears a faint rustle of wind in the brush. He hears a sigh as someone rolls over and goes back to sleep in the tent closest to them.

Kurt says, softly, “I think the quiet woke me.”

They stay still for a hushed moment. It’s warm, even this early, and they’ve shifted apart in the night so only their knees are touching. Blaine moves his hand to weave his fingers with Kurt’s where they lie flat on the sheets. There’s hours before they need to be at breakfast, so much time stretching out before them.

Kurt lifts their joined hands and kisses Blaine’s fingers sleepily, one by one. “Will you fuck me?” he asks, almost too quietly to hear. “Please, Blaine.”

Blaine almost laughs aloud despite the weight of silence, because of course he will. He shifts closer to Kurt’s warm skin, closes his eyes for a drowsy moment to let sleep take him. Then he unhurriedly stretches along the length of Kurt’s naked body and lifts his head so he can nuzzle into Kurt’s shoulder, kissing up to his collarbone. He lingers there, tasting salt, flattening his tongue and feeling the bone beneath Kurt’s skin. Kurt sighs sweetly.

“Stay there,” Blaine whispers into Kurt’s ear, and he rolls away to grab some lube and place the tube between their pillows.

Kurt’s eyes are compellingly lovely. Blaine supports his weight on his elbows, and bends himself to the task of kissing him, mouth to mouth, hip to hip, drawn into one another like they’re still dreaming.

Sometimes when they fuck it’s simply hands and cocks and easy sweaty pleasure. Blaine loves those times. But other times it’s like this, every touch meaning something, their connection stretching to the past and to the future. These are the times Blaine will never forget.

Beneath him, Kurt’s hips slow. His hands run down Blaine’s back and pull him so close there’s not even breath between them. He wraps his legs around Blaine’s waist and rolls upwards while Blaine thrusts down into him.

Blaine’s body will always long for Kurt’s. This is the boy who shyly held his breath and gave himself to Blaine. The same boy who giggled helplessly as they tried to line things up and Blaine slipped, couldn’t push inside, swore and bumped his cock about, desperate and ridiculous between Kurt’s thighs. This is the boy Blaine could never quite resist, had to pry himself agonizingly away from over and over, was left aching for during classes, during meals, during the desperate rush to make curfew. And this is the same boy who opened up and took Blaine, who seemed one with Blaine as they explored exactly what their bodies could be together. 

They’re still kissing. Blaine shifts his lips to Kurt’s neck, gratified to hear the muffled gasp of pleasure in his ear. Blaine uncaps the lube and reaches in between them to spread it over his cock. Kurt curls his hips upward, angled so Blaine can hold his cock with one hand and press it into Kurt.

Kurt’s almost unbearably tight around Blaine. He’s holding his breath. The air is forced out of him in soft huffs as Blaine shifts closer. “Shh, says Blaine. “Hush, beautiful,” and Kurt moans a little eager moan. Blaine’s cock slips further inside. Kurt inhales, the sound sweet and sharp with pain. For a moment Blaine freezes, but Kurt digs his fingers into Blaine’s hips to pull them down harder. Blaine lifts his head from Kurt’s neck and watches Kurt’s face. Kurt’s eyes are closed. He looks far away and focused. The mixed pain and pleasure in his expression runs through Blaine’s blood like lightning.

There’s a rhythm they’ve practiced and, however familiar, it never feels old. They move together, going deeper and deeper. Kurt moans again. Blaine runs his thumb across Kurt’s lips and watches Kurt bite into the pad to keep quiet. Kurt opens his eyes and meets Blaine’s gaze. His pupils are wide and unfocused. 

“Hold on, baby,” Blaine murmurs. “Wait for me.”

He moves faster and lets the pain of Kurt’s teeth against his thumb meet the bliss of Kurt surrounding him. He comes before he expects it, pleasure exploding low in his cock and high in his spine, skimming through all his nerves. He groans as he fills Kurt up and, too late, presses his lips together to hold it all in. Below him Kurt shudders, arching his back, his clear eyes sightless on Blaine’s in that one bright moment. Blaine drops his body against Kurt’s.

“Loveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou,” Kurt says, low under his breath and pressed into Blaine’s skin.

They kiss through the aftershocks, tangled in the sheets. Through the window, the land and the sky seem to go on forever. The sun has just crept over the horizon and is touching the scrub and the dust with dazzling gold.

vii) Sounds of Silence, Uluru, Australia

Blaine’s growing accustomed to the vast span of sky. He still can’t help but be excited as they pull up in the little bus to see tables and chairs set out in the open, with views to a far horizon. There are even white tablecloths.

“Brings new meaning to al fresco dining,” he says to Kurt.

He expects a comment about laundering all those tablecloths given the ever-present red dust. Instead Kurt smiles distractedly.

He’s been sort of weird all day. At first Blaine worried, of course, that it was him. Something in their conversation last night that was sticking in Kurt’s mind. Something in the way they’d touched this morning. But even while he worried, Blaine wouldn’t take last night or this morning back.

Anyway, although Kurt’s been edgy, he’s been nothing but warm toward Blaine - resting a hand on his arm as they walk around the rock, gazing bright-eyed as Blaine turns back from another stunning view, pressing a glancing kiss to Blaine’s shoulder as Blaine leans past him at lunch. 

Their table is set a bit away from the others. Kurt nods to the head waiter as he seats them.

“Thank you,” he says and Blaine echoes it. Here they’ll be far enough from the other diners that they won’t hear their conversations. They’ve been together six years, but time together alone, especially here with the desert sky the only thing above them, is still a delight.

As they watch the traditional dance and storytelling, Blaine feels Kurt’s gaze and turns to smile reassuringly.

“You okay?” he murmurs in an interlude.

Kurt startles a little then nods, smiles and turns back to the dancers.

The food is good. They try kangaroo with native mint and emu with bush tomato chutney. They sip sparkling wine from the Barossa Valley. Over dinner they talk about Blaine’s plans for his revue, his troubles with one of the comedians, Kurt’s visceral response to the violence he’s been portraying on stage, the roles Kurt’s agent has been suggesting for him.

At length, the sun settles down. The great span of sky turns gold at the horizon, fades steadily and deepens to black. As it does the stars appear in greater and greater number. It’s beyond any sky Blaine has ever seen.

But then Blaine turns to meet Kurt’s gaze across the table, and the sky is forgotten. Kurt blinks slowly and takes a breath like he’s steeling himself. Everything moves slowly. He pushes his chair back and stands, moves to Blaine’s side. As Blaine watches, he goes down on one knee, there beside Blaine’s chair in the red dust. A current runs under Blaine’s skin. He doesn’t dare take a breath. There are a million stars above them and still, Kurt’s everything Blaine can see.

Kurt looks up and says, “Hi.” Then he swallows. When he speaks again his voice is sure. “I was 16 when I met you. Back then I still believed in fairy tale romance. I guess I don’t believe in that anymore.” He shrugs faintly then lifts his eyes back to Blaine. “But I believe- with every part of me, I believe in what we have. Not because it’s fate or a fairytale or a Tony-winning Broadway musical, but because I’ve seen it.” He takes a shaky breath and Blaine echoes it. Kurt smiles at him.“I believe in our forever because we’re already living it.”

Blaine wipes his eyes and nods. Kurt reaches over into his bag awkwardly. When he continues there’s a box in his hand, a ring inside. Blaine looks at it then back into Kurt’s clear eyes. 

“Four years ago I promised you forever. Whatever’s come between, good and bad and really poorly thought out,” Blaine giggles wetly and sniffs. “I meant it then. And I still mean it. So in a way there’s nothing more to promise. And yet here I am.” He smiles a little. “Because Blaine, I need you to know that I didn’t just fall into this, you didn’t convince me with songs and show choirs and a really, really good suit. You are the love of my life. And that is a choice, and it’s hard and it’s worth it and I will always, always choose you.”

Kurt tips his head back and blinks at tears. “So, my fiancé, Blaine Anderson, I was wondering if you would do me the incredible honor of agreeing to marry me.” When he looks back at Blaine all the stars are in his eyes.

“Of course. Of course I will,” says Blaine. He drags Kurt’s upwards by the arms, tumbling Kurt into his lap. “A thousand times, yes.” 

Aside from the fact that they’re somehow in the Australian outback and Kurt’s just proposed, there is nothing in this kiss that hasn’t been in hundreds of kisses before. Kurt’s in Blaine’s lap. Blaine’s hands are on Kurt’s face, Kurt’s arms have instinctively wrapped around Blaine’s neck.

From a nearby table there’s a cheer and a few people start clapping. Kurt blushes and buries his face on Blaine’s shoulder.

“Oh god. Who invited them?” he says, laughing. “Make it stop.”

“Never,” says Blaine. And he stands, making sure Kurt doesn’t fall, turns them so they are side by side. “Thank you,” he says quietly to Kurt. “I love you.” He raises Kurt’s hand in his own. “You’re amazing. Now let’s take a bow.”

**

viii) Charles Kingsford Smith Airport, Sydney

They’re late for the flight home.

They splurged on the hotel for their last night. The view from their suite was glorious. The shower and its unlimited water flow were glorious. The King sized bed was glorious too, and especially glorious with Kurt giggling and single-minded in it.

Glorious and very, very hard to leave.

Because they’re already late, everything seems set against them. The guy on the reception desk is in training so it takes twenty minutes to check out and blush over the movie charges from last night. They wait another ten minutes for a taxi, which then seems to circle around the city before remembering where Sydney Airport is. They have to line up for coffee and line up for immigration and line up to put their bags through the scanner. And of course Kurt’s bag is pulled aside by security.

“Hair dryer is it?” the security guard says as he pulls it out. “Yeah these always set off the alarms. Sorry, mate.”

Kurt breathes through his nose. “No harm done,” he says after a second.

As Kurt bends over the metal table and shoves everything back into his bag Blaine says, “Don’t change too much, sweetheart. It’s you I want to marry, after all.”

Kurt gives him a half-hearted smile. His jaw is set. “I’m trying to let things go. You’re here, I’m here, what could go wrong?”

A moment later they’re almost hit by an airport buggy stacked high with toilet rolls. Kurt shakes his head and rolls his eyes spectacularly. Blaine tries to hide his amusement. The last call for their flight sounds over the intercom. Blaine’s giggling as they make a run for the gate. 

Once they’re settled in the plane, breathing back to normal and everything in its place, Kurt hands Blaine his hand cream and water bottle and asks, “Ready to go home?”

Blaine takes a slow sip of water as he considers. Of course he loves New York, loves his show and their friends and their life together, but he can’t pretend he’s not apprehensive about returning to the real world.

“I guess so?” he says. “I’m hoping things won’t go back to how they were. Because New York is home, but things were easier here, in a way. Between us.” Kurt’s eyes are serious and focused. But Blaine smiles at him. “I don’t know, if we stayed here we could be jackaroos or surf instructors.”

Kurt smiles too. “Do you even know how to ride a horse? Or surf?”

“That’s not the point.”

“No,” Kurt laughs. “But they have theater in Australia too. We actually know how to do that.”

“See? You agree. We could stay.”

“Oh no. No no. I’m not saying that I want to stay. At least in New York the dangers are human. They don’t try and crawl into your shoes.” He pauses. “I guess it’s up to us to make it better.” Which is kind of the worst and the best answer in the world. “I think we’re doing that.”

“Are you glad we came?” Blaine asks. He regrets the question almost immediately. It sounds like he’s asking for reassurance.

But Kurt looks at him fondly. “I am so glad, Blaine.”

Blaine smiles. “Oh! I got you something.”

He fishes in his bag where it’s squeezed under the chair in front of him and pulls out a magazine. _Australian Bride_ blazes yellow across the cover and a woman in white stands joyfully in an endless field of sunflowers.

“Oh my god,” says Kurt. “You got me a bridal magazine. An Australian bridal magazine. You are the best. It’s no wonder I want to marry you.”

“I picked it up when you sent me out for condoms last night,” says Blaine.

“Those were essential,” says Kurt, letting his eyes dip suggestively. “I wonder what the cashier thought?” He flips through pages, looking thrilled and giggly. Blaine wants to kiss him on his flushed cheeks. Kurt glances at Blaine for a moment, then back at the magazine. He holds up a page with a guy in a nice suit and an iconic Australian akubra hat. “Oh you’d look good in this.”

Blaine laughs happily. They taxi down the runway. He looks out the window as they take off and bank immediately to fly North over the ocean. They’re heading home.

“You know,” says Kurt as the plane levels out and the engine noise drops. “If we start planning our wedding as soon as we get home, we could spend Christmas in Paris.”

Blaine takes a breath. “On our honeymoon?” he asks.

“On our honeymoon,” echoes Kurt.

After Blaine had proposed that first time, they’d spent countless phone calls and Skype dates envisaging their early days as husbands - serenading one another on the Eiffel Tower, dancing around the Arc de Triomphe, falling in love over and over again in the gardens and cafes and streets of Europe’s most romantic city. Back then it had all the glamor and ultimately all the plausibility of a classic romance. They were just kids. They’ve come a long way.

“A winter wedding,” says Blaine, factoring that in. “We could do it on ice skates!”

Kurt lifts his head to glare at Blaine. Blaine giggles helplessly at the thought of Kurt drifting by under fairy lights, dressed beautifully in dove grey and a top hat, unable to stop for long enough to say his vows.

“You look good in Winter,” he manages after a moment.

“You look good in every season,” says Kurt.

He reads for a bit then closes the magazine on his lap. “I was thinking,” he says. “I mean, we have all our music at our fingertips. All the romantic songs we’ve ever heard. We could use this flight to get a head start on choosing our wedding duet. They say joy is the hardest thing to express in art. I think we can give it a try.”

When he looks at Blaine the shyness of the boy and the confidence of the man are all caught up in one captivating person. Even if Kurt vetoes most of Blaine’s song suggestions, Blaine is going to love him forever.


End file.
